


Though I be cold and frighten, my faith in you is strongest of all

by SapphireShelle91



Series: The Outlaw's Daughter [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Morgan's daughter - Freeform, Chapter 1: Colter (Red Dead Redemption 2)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireShelle91/pseuds/SapphireShelle91
Summary: Something terrible had happened in Blackwater.The adults thought she wasn’t big enough to understand, that she hadn’t taken notice of those who had returned from the job, rushing into camp, shouting that they had to go, to go now, and those who hadn’t.But Lizzie had, she took count. She knew who had left for Blackwater that morning, had counted with bated breath the members of her family who returned, fear bright in their eyes and blood darkening their clothes.She counted until she could count no more, and those who were missing glared so brightly at her, it was as if she was trying to look at the sun.She understood what missing meant and it filled her with dread.**Set right at the beginning of RDR2**
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang, original female character & Van der Linde Gang
Series: The Outlaw's Daughter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976173
Kudos: 12





	Though I be cold and frighten, my faith in you is strongest of all

_**May – 1899** _

The air is bitterly cold, biting deeply into her bones despite the mountain of blankets, one very large cat and a five year old boy piled on top of her.

Her fingers, gloved and buried into the thick fur of her overgrown devil cat, were numb with cold while her booted feet ached something fierce from the chill.

She had long since given up on the idea of sleep, even though she had been told to try by Abigail more than once this long, cold night. Sleep did not come easily to her on most nights, so expecting her to fall asleep during a night such as this, after everything that had happened over the last few days, was wishful thinking.

She was just glad that Jackie had been able to finally drop-off to sleep.

The little boy had been restless and grumpy ever since they had been thrown into the back of the wagon as chaos, sudden and unwelcome, overwhelmed their little kingdom.

Up and leaving places was nothing new to the two children, but the speed of which they had left Blackwater, and the fear that still hung in the air around the adults even now, was definitely different and Lizzie did not like it one bit.

Something terrible had happened in Blackwater.

The adults thought she wasn’t big enough to understand, that she hadn’t taken notice of those who had returned from the job, rushing into camp and shouting that they had to go, to go now, and those who hadn’t.

But Lizzie had, she took count (as she always did before and after big jobs). She knew who had left for Blackwater that morning, had counted with bated breath the members of her family who returned, fear bright in their eyes and blood darkening their clothes.

She counted until she could count no more, and those who were missing glared so brightly at her, it was as if she was trying to look at the sun.

She understood what missing meant and it filled her with dread.

With as much dread as watching Davey dying at her feet, despite the best efforts from both Abigail and the Reverend to keep him breathing.

She only hopes that when Davey finally did die, he did so while Jackie still slept.

The little boy had been distressed enough when Davey had been loaded into the wagon with them both, bleeding heavily from his head and torso. It had taken every story Lizzie knew – she hadn’t had time, in the rush to pack up camp, to grab their storybook from where she had left it earlier that day under the old twisted tree that she and Jackie had liked to sit under to keep out of the adults way – to keep the boy amused and from bothering his momma with questions about Davey.

Jackie didn’t understand death yet, not fully, and Lizzie would rather him not learn of it in the back of a wagon, in a terrible snow storm as their family run for their lives from lawman who wished to hang them all.

But while Jackie did not yet understand death or the fear that gripped the adults around them, Lizzie had some idea, despite her own young years.

She understood the fear of being caught by the lawman, that it would be a very bad thing indeed, that being hung was worse than being shot.

In her mind, she sees Uncle Sean and Mac riddled with bullets like Davey at her feet, or doing the hangman’s dance from the end of a rope – Like the man she saw, oh months back now, in a town they had passed through on their way to Blackwater. The adults had even thought of stopping there for a rest, until they saw what had drawn the crowd to the town square. They had moved on quickly, heads low, determined not to draw attention away from the hanging man. It was an hour or so after, with the town well faded into the distance that Lizzie asked her Aunt Tilly if the man was like them, an outlaw. The horrified look she received from not just Tilly but from all the other adults who had overheard her question had had Lizzie snapping her mouth up smart and not breathing another word about it. Not even after the nightmares of ropes and jeering crowds plagued her slumber, she kept her thoughts to herself.

She doesn’t know how Jenny died, and no one has spoken to her about it, but she knows that Jenny is dead, in another wagon behind them and Lizzie heart aches because even though Jenny had been new to the gang, Lizzie had liked her, she had liked her a lot.

Far better than she liked Micah, whom had returned from the disastrous Blackwater job without so much as a scratch on him and seeming uncaring towards the fright that surrounded the rest of Lizzie’s family.

He had even complained about being asked to scout on ahead for shelter in this horrid storm.

_I hope he gets lost and never comes back_ , Lizzie thought as she watched the Reverend swing himself out the back of the wagon.

She could only barely make out Reverend Swanson’s voice as he speaks above the howling wind to Dutch and Hosea, sitting up front of their wagon, just behind her head.

She doesn’t hear most of what is spoken in the short conversation, but as Reverend Swanson clambers back into the wagon, she does hear Hosea quiet mutter of that they’ll all be dying.

Her head snapped around stare up at where her silver haired uncle sat, her heart beating a panicked jig at his words.

A heavy weight comes to rest upon the top of her head, causing her to crane her head back to stare up into a pair of dark eyes that offered comfort while only asking for faith in return.

Her heart settled into a usual beat as she took comfort from those eyes and the heavy weight upon her head.

It’d be alright, just have faith. Dutch always has a plan.

Uncle Dutch ruffled her hair gently when she smiled back at him before he was twisting back around to face the unknown before their wagon.

And even if they were now in the unknown, Dutch would see them through, he always did.

He and Uncle Hosea and Daddy.

Daddy…

“Arthur!”

Lizzie shot upright at the sound of her father’s name being shouted above the frozen winds, disturbing the slumber of a grumpy boy and devil cat, both shooting her disgruntled looks before burying themselves once more under the pile of blankets, as Lizzie scrambled up to sit between Uncle Dutch and Hosea, peering into the darkness for her father.

She spotted him soon enough, atop of a horse that was not Boudicca – she had also been among the few who had not returned to camp and it had taken one look at her father’s face for Lizzie to guess what had become of his beloved horse. – a short distance from them up the snowy road.

“I found a place where we can get some shelter. Let Davey rest while he…” She thinks her father catches sight of her then, which has him immediately hesitating on what to say next, “you know.”

_While he waits to die_ , Lizzie mentally finishes for him, sinking a little into Hosea warm embrace.

She listens with only half an ear to her father speaking of an old abandon mining town he had found, finding herself far more interested in burying herself into the warmth that was beneath Uncle Hosea coat, tucking herself up against him real tight like, close enough to hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

She even starts to doze, soothed by the gentle strokes of Uncle Hosea fingers against her hair, when she feels the wagon pull to a stop.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Uncle Hosea voice gently broke through the fog of sleep clouding her head, “time to wake up.”

Lizzie scrubbed the back of her hand against her face as she peered around them. It was still as dark as when they were moving through the snowy forest, but she thinks the dark sharps she can spy are buildings rather than thick clumps of trees.

“You climb on back with Jack now.” Hosea said as he helped her back into the wagon, “the both of you stay put til someone comes along for you. Quiet now, you know how it is when in a new place.”

Lizzie nodded.

She did know how it was and it was her job to make sure Jackie kept safe, quiet and out of trouble while the adults made sure their new spot was safe and had time to set up camp.

She carefully settled back into the blankets, mindful not to wake Jackie just yet, quietly watching as Davey was gently lifted from the wagon on a stretcher, Abigail still working away on him, even though one look at her face has told Lizzie everything.

“Watch him.” Abigail nodded briefly to Jackie, her eyes pleading while Lizzie forced a smile and lightly lay a hand upon the little boy’s shoulder.

Abigail didn’t say another word, but Lizzie had long learnt to read gratitude off of folks faces.

And then they were alone, not quite in the dark, for a lantern hung at the back of the wagon, and not really alone neither, for Lizzie could hear movement and low talking from outside the wagon, but Lizzie always felt on edge whenever they arrived a new spot, one that they had never used before and could possess unseen dangers, especially in the darkness of a snowy night like this one.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm her silly racing heart and thinking of her favourite stories to best keep her more frightening thoughts at bay, Lizzie sat and waited, and waited, and waited for someone to come and collect them.

It seemed forever before Auntie Tilly was sticking her head into the wagon, looking cold and tired, but the fearful look had finally left her dark eyes, though it had now been replaced with a sadness Lizzie knew all too well.

Between the two of them, they woke Jackie from his heavily sleep, stopping him from working himself into a right tantrum with the promise of being able to go right back to sleep in an actual bed, - an actual bed Jackie, with a mattress and pillows! - it was just a short walk, and then he go back to sleep.

As Aunt Tilly helped Jackie out of the wagon, Lizzie thought he might have fallen back to sleep on his feet, with the way he was swaying and almost fell head first from the wagon if Tilly hadn’t been there to catch him, only for Jackie to look up and cry in a much brighter voice than he had spoken with only moments earlier.

“Snow!”

The grin he shot back at her was so bright and happy, that Lizzie found whatever irritation she still felt towards the little brat from all his grumbling and complaining he had done earlier that day fade and the grin she sent back at him was almost as bright and cheery as his own.

“In the morning.” Aunt Tilly snorted in amusement, as if she could read the minds of both of them, but maybe it was an easy enough guess with Jackie bending down to pick up some snow to peg at Lizzie as she still stood inside the wagon, vulnerable and unable to immediately retaliate. The little cheat! Or would have been little cheat, if Aunt Tilly hadn’t put a stop to it all.

Now sure that Jackie wasn’t about throw a snow ball at the back of her head, Lizzie turn back around to poke at the blankets she and Jackie had been curled under, along with her cat.

Her cat who was refusing to move,

“Lance.” She whined when a paw swiped at her from the depths of the blanket mountain. No claws, but Lizzie was certain it was just a matter of time before they made an appearance. But she wanted these blankets!

“Lizzie, leave it.” Aunt Tilly called from outside, “there are plenty in the cabin already.”

“I…” but she liked these ones and well, she rather not leave Lance alone, in the wagon, in a new place.

“Give me a moment,” Tilly called again, “I’ll get Jackie to his Ma, then I’ll be back ta help you with that damn cat.”

Lizzie called a quiet thank you, and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart in her chest over being left alone because she was just being silly. She was perfectly safe and well within calling distance if anything bad were to happen – which it most certainly would not - so she…

There was a heavy crunch in the snow from behind her, outside of the wagon, that had Lizzie letting out a little squeal of fright as she tripped over her own feet and falling painfully down upon her bottom.

“Liz?” her racing heart settled as her father’s familiar hat came into view of the lantern. “what you doing in there?”

“Lance,” she pushed herself quickly to her feet, hoping desperately her father wouldn’t see her red cheeks, or the discreet rub she gave of her sore bottom, “he won’t come out.”

“You’re still in here because of tha devil cat?” the wagon grunted under the weight of her father pulling himself inside.

“He’s not a devil cat.” Lizzie couldn’t help but pout even though she knew she was changing no ones mind over the stupid nickname that Sean had given her cat after that one time Lance jumped down from a tree, right on to the top of Sean’s head and scratched his face bloody before running off. Sean plead innocence when a very upset Lizzie heard the story and demanded to know what he had done to her poor cat - who despite being, Lizzie did accept and acknowledge, a rather bad temper animal and did not like anyone (with the exception of Lizzie’s father, and at times Lizzie. It often depended on whether Lizzie had a treat for him or not), he did not scratch folk without having a very good reason for doing so.

Lizzie had yet to learn the full story behind Lance scratching Sean’s face bloody, but after that event, ‘Devil Cat’ was the name Lance was better known by around camp.

Her devil cat let out an angry yowl as he was pick up, blankets and all, by Lizzie’s father and carried out of the wagon, Lizzie trotting after them.

She watched as a bit of struggle broke out between Lizzie’s father, the blankets and her cat, before her cat suddenly broke free of both her father’s arms and the blankets and shot of hissing into the night.

“Lancelot!” Lizzie called in vain after him, even though the night had well and truly swollen him whole.

She had half a mind to go after him only to be caught by the shoulder and matched towards a brightly glowing cabin.

“He’ll be back when he’s hungry.”

Lizzie knew her father was right but… it was so dark and cold and…

She squeak in surprise and muted outrage as the bundle of blankets her father had been carried were unceremoniously dumped upon her head.

“H-hey!” her complaint was met with an ever so slight teasing twitch of her father’s mouth which she ignored with a pout as she wrapped the blankets like a cloak around her.

She leant heavily against her father as Davey is officially pronounced dead to the gang, trying not to think traitorously little thoughts along such lines of; _better him than Daddy_.

But she thought them all the same and Lizzie tried to feel ashamed that she didn’t feel guiltier for thinking them.

She did her best to listen to Dutch’s speech – they reminded her of the ones great Kings in old stories, the ones Jackie and she like best, gave before a great battle against a terrible foe – but the tiredness that had not been present earlier that night has finally arrived, leaving her with a fight to keep her eyes open.

She’s only barely awake when she is swung up into Daddy’s arms, carried a short distance, she thinks at least, before she is being tucked in somewhere soft and warm next to another sleeping body – Jackie.

Once, settled there, with sleep heavily limps she catches hold of her father jacket.

He’s leaving.

_Leaving where? When will he be back? Were they safe now? Where was Uncle Sean and Mac? Had Uncle John come back yet?_

These were all questions laying heavy upon her tongue, none of which she spoke despite her best attempts to, the draw of sleep was far too strong for her to resist.

Her father shushed her, tells her to sleep and that he will be, he will be back soon, before she wakes most like.

Be a good girl now, and sleep.

She wishes he would leave his hat.

She always sleeps better when wearing his hat. It makes the monsters and dark thoughts in her head behave better when it’s on her head, but he has to a job to do with Uncle Dutch and she will see him in the morning.

She will see him in morning, he promised as he, almost hesitantly as if he fears it will be her that will not be there in the morning when he returns, brushes his hand over her hair.

Sleep. They are safe now.

And if there was one person Lizzie trusted more than anyone in the world, more than Dutch and his promises of a new land where they could live free, it was her father.

If he said that it was safe, she could sleep and knew without a hint of doubt that she would see him in the morning, because he said she would.

So with a quiet mumble of ‘stay safe’ she was sound asleep before her Daddy had even left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> 29/11/2020 Author's Note: I meant to post this ficlet much earlier, but due an unexpected computer crash which corrupted the original file (and others in my RDR folder), I've had to re-write the whole thing 
> 
> Lizzie Morgan is eight years old here and will be for all fics related to the events occurring in DR2 (obviously not including the Epilogue). She has been "with" the gang, fror around four years, ever since her mother's death, which happened when she was four, in 1895. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this instalment of Lizzie's Morgan's story. If you have any suggestions for future fics , please let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading and stay safe.


End file.
